


Winning Hand

by winterwaters



Series: Aces [4]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aces Universe, Alternate Universe - After College/University, F/M, Fluff, Fools in Love, Friendship, Misunderstandings, Modern AU, Shenanigans, the usual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-04-19 01:00:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4726841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bellamy finally gets to take Clarke on that date - and a hell of a lot more, as their relationship progresses.</p><p>~~~Picks up right after Wild Card</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winning Hand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avidfangirllife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidfangirllife/gifts).



> Because of your general awesomeness, of course ;) <3
> 
> So apparently I'm not done with this universe? XD who knew. It seems to be the only thing not giving me writer's block at the moment. Hope you enjoy! :)

Bellamy does slow dance with Clarke at the reception, not just once but three times, thoroughly enjoying himself as he whispers anecdotes into her ear; some kosher, and some not so much. He particularly loves it when she can’t keep a straight face any longer and has to snuggle so close that her nose is mashed up against his pulse, her reddened cheeks hidden by wavy blonde tresses.

He smiles politely over her head at the relatives that cluck like hens in the distance, all the while stroking her bare back gently, captivated by the goosebumps that rise on her skin. In the midst of the second song, he tells her that he’s very much a fan of her pale blue halter dress, and details exactly how he plans to get her out of it the second they get back to their room. 

To which she weakly reminds him they’ve already packed their stuff in the Jeep and have to drive home first.

“What happened to being a fan of cars?” He asks lowly.

Clarke steps on his toes three times before the song is over. 

They take a few requisite selfies, mainly because Octavia is flooding his phone with texts that increase in capitalization and emojis until he thinks she might just fly through the screen herself. They head to their table when the dance floor gets too full, and Clarke doesn’t even bother with her chair, just sits right on his lap with her arm hooked around his neck. In between chuckling at her relatives’ rather inspired dance moves, they snap some pictures. 

“Your turn to choose,” she says, shoving the phone at him.

Bellamy flips through the photos, unable to stop kissing her shoulder and collarbone and throat until she laughs, squeaky, and turns his chin to the screen. He finds the one he likes best and shows it to her. In it, they’re both looking at each other instead of the camera, each with an eyebrow cocked in silent conversation. It looks like they’re sharing a secret. Clarke smiles happily and nods, not even bothering to caption the photo before uploading it.

His sister is on it like a dog with a scent, and within minutes, Clarke’s phone is buzzing non-stop. Jasper, who returned to the States overnight after visiting Maya’s parents, is almost as bad as Octavia when it comes to emojis and exclamation marks. The others catch him up quickly, and he groans over losing the bet while Maya reminds Monty she's owed half his share of the winnings. Chuckling, Bellamy tucks the phone back into Clarke’s shiny little purse and grasps her hand. 

“One more dance, then we can see about that Jeep,” he grins.

~~~~~~~~~

In the end, they’re accosted by too many family members on their way out, so leaving becomes a lengthy affair that leads to both of them just wanting a nap. They begin their trek home a bit worn out, though content. Bellamy throws his suit jacket into the backseat maybe a little too eagerly, but Clarke’s heels join it a second later, flung with extra enthusiasm. His tie follows, and he rolls up his sleeves while Clarke dons her flats. He looks up to find her eyes roaming over him a second too long, the bite of her lip turning from playful to heated, so he leans over and kisses her until they’re both out of breath.

She gets them back to the city in record time. 

In between his fingers tiptoeing along her thigh and hers constantly grazing his forearms, they’re both ready to hole up in her apartment for the rest of the evening. As soon as she parks, they shoot out of the car and up the stairs, halting at every landing when he decides tasting the curve of her neck is more important than movement. To be fair, Clarke is zero help, throwing alluring glances over her shoulder that all but dare him to take her on the spot.

Despite Bellamy’s best efforts, they don’t make it to the bedroom on the first try. He's just lucky the door closes behind them.

They are a flurry of limbs then, shoving clothes out of the way rather than removing them in order to join their bodies. He comes undone fast, groaning into her neck, and it would be embarrassing if Clarke wasn’t panting into his ear with those little mewls that tell him she’s close too, and soon her body locks up around his, her head thudding back against the door as her release hits.

She giggles at him when they collapse in a heap on the floor. “Well that covers wall-sex,” she sighs, and he grins lazily, tracing the line of her cheekbone.

“You planning to cover all the surfaces, princess?”

“As if you aren’t.”

Well, he can’t let a statement like that go without action. So he pulls himself up, then holds out a hand to her as well, only to deposit her on the couch seconds later, kneeling between her legs with a rakish grin. Clarke grabs the cushion with one hand and his hair with the other, trying to urge him to move faster as he nuzzles his way up her thigh at a treacherous pace. He smirks at a particularly hard tug, but she’s so enticing he gives in all the same, closing his mouth over her sex. Shuddering, she comes while biting a throw pillow to stifle her wail.

“Next time don’t bite the pillow,” Bellamy says hoarsely, flopping down beside her.

“Fine, but I’m making you explain to Mrs. Hennington if she comes knocking.”

“4B? Easy. Her little mutt loves me.”

Clarke giggles and curls her fingers into the collar of his shirt, dragging him down until their lips meet. He shifts to lie atop her, elbows resting by her head as they kiss slow and leisurely. 

Afterwards, she eyes the cushion, contemplative. “Those teeth impressions are going to last,” she frowns.

“It was an ugly pillow anyways,” Bellamy mutters, earning him a slap to his backside. “Hey!” Clarke only wiggles her eyebrows, and he laughs. “Oh that’s how this works now?”

Clarke grins smugly and tosses the cushion aside, canting her hips upward, and then there’s no talking for a while, just the little breathy sounds she makes as he peels her dress off like he promised to.

Eventually they stumble to the bedroom, nearly tripping over the clothes discarded on the way. Her impatient whimpers make him a little delirious, and he swears he can see his skull when she pushes him onto the mattress before descending lower, her tongue doing something wicked as she goes. His hips fly upward repeatedly, a hand fisted in her curls as he tries to control himself. Clarke merely smiles and keeps sliding her lips and twisting her hand, and he's close in no time, yanking her up for a desperate kiss. When she slides off him onto her stomach and glances coyly over her shoulder, Bellamy thinks he might die at the sight before him.

He’s counting the glow-in-the-dark star decals on the ceiling, trying to trace out a constellation, when Clarke finally lifts her head from where it's been buried in the pillow for seven minutes. 

“I think 5B may have heard me this time too.”

He can’t help it; his chest puffs out. She notices and punches his arm, blushing. Bellamy laughs and tugs her close. “I love your tiny ineffectual fists,” he murmurs into her neck. She hums and sprawls atop him with apparently no intention of moving. 

He's alright with that. Having a Clarke blanket isn't so bad.

Later, Clarke’s stomach rumbles and makes him laugh so hard she pushes him off the bed, but he pulls on his pants and wanders into her kitchen anyways. By the time he’s dug up the ingredients for a proper meal, she’s perched on the counter in nothing but his white button-up and a cheeky grin, and so making food takes a hell of a lot longer because he’s too busy kissing the daylights out of her all over again. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Bellamy does take her on that date, the first of many. Wick sets up the planetarium tour with unbridled glee, passing along a warning from Raven in a chipper voice that sounds like anything but. He continues winking at them every chance he gets, but Bellamy only has eyes for Clarke by that point so it’s hard to care. 

She gazes up at the sky in awe, listening with a patient smile as he offers up trivia learned from a combination of Wick and intense Googling. His palms are sweaty and his voice cracks more than once, and he feels like a fumbling teenager. But in the middle of pointing out the center of Orion's Belt, she leans over and kisses him softly, sweetly, and his nerves fade away. So do his words, unfortunately-- but she doesn’t seem to mind.

They go to the restaurant by the river, and Bellamy watches her take in their surroundings, her eyes carefully assessing all the artwork on the walls as they’re taken to their seats. During the meal, she tells him how her dad always used to take her to the same spot every Friday while she was in middle school, because she’d fallen in love with the rotating gallery inside the restaurant. It was the same place she ended up working as a waitress during summers in high school, easily becoming well-known in their small town. At graduation, she insisted on taking her parents to the same restaurant, proudly stepping back to let her dad see his painting displayed on the wall when they walked inside.

Pausing, she considers something, then grins at him. “I guess that’s one less person we have to tell about us,” she says. Bellamy smiles just as widely, thinking of his and Jake’s shared secret.

On the way home, Clarke burrows under his arm and hugs him close, her arms banding firmly around his waist. She doesn’t let go even as they squeeze in the door and up the stairs, pulling him into her apartment without a second thought.

Just a couple weeks later, Bellamy loads up the truck he borrowed from Wick and takes Clarke to a spot outside the city. They pull up to a grassy knoll that he decides is far enough from city lights, the night sky already darkened to an inky mass above. She watches in amusement and growing surprise as he sets out a striped blanket on the flatbed of the truck, pulling out a picnic basket and a thermos afterwards.

"Anything else stashed under those seats?" She asks, grinning.

"That's only for me to know." He beckons her to the back, waiting until she's situated before climbing in next to her. Immediately, she crawls into the space between his legs, wiggling up against his chest until she’s firmly ensconced between his thighs, making it clear she's going to stay there awhile. The huge smile that stretches his face feels like it might hurt in the morning, but he can’t really give a damn.

He wraps his arms around her with a contented sigh, pulling her even more firmly against him. “There’s more blankets, if you get cold,” he murmurs. “And hot chocolate in the thermos.”

Clarke tips her head back. “With marshmallows?”

“What do you think?”

“I think you’re the best,” she says, and proceeds to lay the softest of kisses along his right hand, her smooth lips tracing over the ridge of his knuckles, the pads of his fingertips, the pulse at his wrist. Bellamy rests his chin on her shoulder, a small breath passing his lips. Clarke studies his hand like she’s never seen it, pausing to frown over even the smallest cut or faded line. He gets the feeling she’s cataloguing it all-- the questions will pour out later.

Eventually she threads her fingers through his and leans back, smiling up at him. “So what are we watching?”

His heart screams _I love you_ even as he searches for his voice again, finally recovering enough to tell her about the Perseids meteor shower that occurs annually near the end of summer.

“They say you should be at higher elevation, but mostly it’s just about finding a clear space far from the city lights. And apparently this year it’s near a new moon, so there’s less interference from moonlight and the view will be even better.” He motions to the basket. “It’s not going to start until at least midnight, though, so I brought reinforcements.”

Clarke’s eyebrows wiggle. “Not til midnight, hmm? That's an awful lot of time, babe.” She moves her backside all too purposefully, her giggles echoing in the air when Bellamy grabs her hips with a groan stifled into her shoulder.

“Cheap shot, princess,” he mutters, eyes closed. “But I’m not giving in.”

“Not yet,” she replies smugly, and he nearly asks her to marry him on the spot.

~~~~~~~~~

Octavia returns from Europe a couple weeks later and all but breaks down his door, only to find a very disgruntled Miller who points across the hall before shuffling back to his blanket cocoon on the couch. She barges into Clarke’s place next and drags them both to dinner at their favorite pub a couple blocks away. Bellamy smiles as they walk in, thinking of just a few nights ago when he and Clarke had had a little too much fun with their own game of pool. Clarke seems to be having similar thoughts, judging by the way she can’t stop looking over at the jukebox.

Harper calls out a greeting from behind the bar, and two seconds later Monroe bursts through the swinging door, takes one look at them arm in arm, and gives her a high-five. Then she holds out her hand expectantly. Harper rolls her eyes, but hands over a bill from her apron while Clarke stares and Octavia laughs.

They order their usual burgers, and Bellamy gets a large side of fries because Clarke is most certainly going to steal several, if not half the plate. Lincoln joins them while Octavia is in prime interrogation mode, demanding every detail of the past couple weeks until Clarke finally switches gears and tells her to return the favor with all the pictures of their trip.

A sleepy-eyed Miller is dragged in by Jasper and Raven not too long after, and they crowd into the booth, exchanging loud greetings. Clarke snuggles further into Bellamy’s side, laying her head on his shoulder as he stretches his arm over the back of the booth, and it’s a stupidly happy feeling.

He chokes on his soda when she whispers into his ear that she’d much rather just sit on his lap, and the rest of the evening becomes rather difficult as he tries to think of everything but that. She knows it, too, judging by every innocent flick of her eyelashes and not-so-innocent scrape of her nails under his t-shirt.

She’s giggling when he pushes her up against her closed door later that night, leaving sloppy kisses along the slope of her neck. His dick is rock hard and still trapped in his pants but he’s impatient and kind of wants payback, so he just grinds hard against her ass, satisfied when her giggles break off on a gasp. Without warning, he flicks open her jeans and pumps two fingers inside of her, his mouth working to leave a proper hickey right at the junction of her neck and shoulder. Clarke reaches back to thread her fingers through his hair, his name a trembling mantra on her lips. He murmurs encouragement, crooking his fingers deep, and her grip tightens as she comes with a low keen just minutes later. 

When her legs begin to shake, he carries her to bed and they get rid of all remaining clothes quickly, after which Clarke finally does crawl into his lap and rides him til he sees stars.

~~~~~~~~~

Bellamy's more than thrilled to find that their lives don't change, aside from their friends' requisite comments and the fact that they both invade each other's personal space quite frequently when they're in the same room. They make much more use of the armchair now, Clarke happily curling up against him whenever she sees fit, ignoring the _click_ of Octavia’s camera that's almost guaranteed to follow. (Maybe Bellamy picks that seat on purpose, but whatever.) 

Now when Clarke falls asleep during his nightly documentaries he's allowed to tuck her into whoever’s bed is closer and crawl in beside her; in the instances he's the one to fall asleep first, he often wakes to her hands carding idly through his hair, tracing the lines of his face until he tips his head back for a kiss. 

They still argue daily, usually over small things - some practical, some not so much. Mostly it’s because Bellamy’s found few new methods to shut her up during their lengthy debates about how the Eagles’ coach isn’t completely nuts or the fact that there is, in fact, a limit to the amount of paprika that should go into a dish, or that starting an Etsy shop is a complete waste of time.

It's possible that he eggs her on a bit too much - hey, he's only human, and Clarke is downright adorable when she gets all fiesty, those blue eyes burning something bright and hands flailing about when she really gets into it. It's quite fun, in his opinion. Nine out of ten times, he lets her chatter as long as he can take it, then plants his lips on hers and calls it a day. And it's not that they don't finish the arguments - they do, usually under the cocoon of their covers when they can both laugh about it again.

It's not one-sided either. Clarke isn't above using her feminine wiles to distract him at pretty much all times - she lets out something like a cackle when he says so after a fairly spectacular round of counter sex.

 _"Feminine wiles?"_ She repeats, clasping her hands behind his neck. "Babe, you're an idiot."

"Maybe," he concedes, "but don't pretend like you're so innocent."

"Never said I was," she shrugs. 

~~~~~~~~~

Their first big argument isn’t what he expects. He comes back from a rough day at work and drops onto Clarke’s couch to vent about not being selected for tenure at the university.

“I’m not saying I need a shrine or anything,” he grumbles at her ceiling. “It’d just be nice to know I have a future there, you know? That they’re just as invested in me as I am in them.”

When Clarke doesn’t answer for a full three minutes, he twists to find her thoughtfully focused on the oven. He knows that look. 

“What?” He asks, tensing.

She sighs and turns around. “You know how you’re always saying your department has those events once a month? Where everyone gathers to discuss current--”

“The kiss-ass parties?” He interrupts, standing in disbelief. “Are you serious?”

“Hear me out, Bellamy,” she sets her jaw, arms crossed. “It’s not about kissing ass. It’s social politics! You have so much to offer them, so many ideas for improvement, for education. But when else are they going to hear them if not there?”

Somewhere, deep down, he knows she has a point. And there’s a voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like O telling him not to be an ass. But his frustration at the day has started to boil over, and this is not what he fucking wanted right now.

“Social politics,” he repeats slowly. “Do you even know what you sound like?”

Clarke’s eyes flash dangerously. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what? I’m not going to pretend to be someone I’m not. You of all people should know that.”

“I’m not asking you to be.” She’s gripping the ladle so hard her knuckles are white. “But Bell, think of how institutions work. You have to raise your profile to get your voice heard. If people know you, they’re more likely to--” She cuts off as he heads for her door. “Wait, Bellamy, come on.”

He doesn’t stop. “No, it’s fine. I just need some time to work on my _profile._ I’ll see you later.”

She’s still standing by the stove when the door shuts. Bellamy pushes into his apartment and heads straight for his room, doing his best to push her stricken expression from his thoughts. Flopping on his bed, he puts on his headphones and turns the volume as high as it will go, closing his eyes.

When he wakes up, everything is dark and silent. His playlist apparently ended a while ago. It’s somewhat soothing, to just lie there atop his covers-- until he thinks about Clarke, and then the shame rises quickly. He knows her intentions were good - they always are - they just hit on an ugly part of his life that he’s always hated. Especially because she was right. Most of the time, he loves his profession because it avoids that crap. He just gets to teach, and learn, and his students are the priority. 

That’s when it hits him. If he’s to keep it that way, keep the focus on education, maybe he needs to swallow some of his own personal issues as well. It would be worth it, if the ultimate endpoint is that his students reap the benefits.

Which is what Clarke was pointing out, before he shut her down.

With a sigh, he rubs the heels of his hands over his eyes, finally sitting up. His clock reads 10:21. She’ll still be up. He splashes water on his face and then shuffles into the living room, only to stop in his tracks.

Clarke is stretched out on the couch, fast asleep. A flat Tupperware box rests on the table in front of her, with a bright yellow post-it note attached.

_For Bellamy._

Bellamy’s throat closes up for several moments, just taking in the sight. Then he pads over and takes a seat on the edge of the cushion, gently stroking her cheek. Clarke mumbles his name, eyelids fluttering. When her gaze focuses, she tries to sit up, a hand gripping his collar as if to stop him from disappearing.

“Bell--”

She’s cut off by his lips on hers. After a moment of surprise, she sinks into it, her arms tightening around his waist. 

“You made a good point, earlier,” he says when they part. “I shouldn’t have dismissed it like that.”

“I wasn’t trying to tell you to be fake,” she says hurriedly, and he can tell she’s been reliving it for hours. “You know I hate politics as much as you do. I’d never ask you to do that. I just-- I hear all the wonderful ideas you have, and I think if you communicated them to your department it could be a good start. No one can act on something they don’t know about.”

He nods. “I know you meant well.”

“But you still hate it.”

“Not entirely. I think… I think if I keep remembering the end goal, to help better things for my students, I think that can keep me grounded. That will make it easier.”

Clarke nods in agreement, but the concern in her eyes doesn’t dissipate. He kisses her cheek and says, “There’s a mixer in a couple months, for the whole district. Probably a black-tie event. I was going to skip, but now I’m thinking it might be a good opportunity to lay some groundwork.” He smiles. “Any chance you’ll be my date?” 

She beams and draws him close for a long kiss, curling up in his lap afterwards. He takes a deep breath, taking comfort in her presence. Eventually his eyes land on the red Tupperware again.

“What’s that?” He asks.

Clarke reaches out and hands it to him, a familiar dash of pink on her cheeks. He opens it to find about two dozen chocolate chip macadamia cookies inside. A smile tugs at his mouth.

“The corner store didn’t have white chocolate chips,” Clarke mutters, staring at her lap, “so you’ll have to deal with regular old chocolate.”

Grinning widely, Bellamy sets the box aside and tilts her chin up, fitting his mouth to hers. Then he goes to the kitchen, grabs two mugs and the carton of milk, and returns to the couch, and they eat milk and cookies while marathoning Chopped on TV until they’re tired again. 

In the morning, he wakes before Clarke, and spends a few minutes just watching her, and when she opens sleepy blue eyes to his, he knows as long as he has her, the rest will fall into place.

~~~~~~~~~~

Time passes quickly like that, and it would be too easy to lose track of the dates if they both weren't teachers and therefore trained to be on schedule. Clarke’s calendar is clearly marked with a red X to signal her parents' next visit - the problem is it’s also buried between notes about bill payments and parent-teacher conferences and an art gallery opening. So they both do a double take when one night, she flips through her planner and realizes the date is just a couple days away.

She spends the next few evenings cleaning, but on the final day her nerves get the better of her, and she’s fidgety and quiet and clipped sentences until Bellamy pulls her into his lap and nuzzles her cheek.

“What can I do?” He murmurs.

Clarke lets out a shaky breath against his forehead, then tilts his face up for a biting kiss. He gets the message and ignores the recipe on the counter to devour her instead, his mouth skating across every inch of skin above her tank top until she’s squirming. He rises with her wrapped around him and makes his way to her bed, doing his utmost to be the distraction she needs. After he’s properly gotten her off with his fingers and his cock, he lowers to put his mouth on her as well, and she laughs and shoves at his shoulder, instead bringing him up for another kiss.

“You’re the best,” she sighs, and just hugs him close.

He’s in the middle of ordering their pizza when she presses herself flush against his back, all softness and curves and teasing hands that creep lower by the second. The person on the other end of the line sounds annoyed at having to repeat his questions twice, though Bellamy is proud to even create a sentence with the way Clarke’s nipping at his earlobe. As her nails scrape across his abs, he barely chokes out the rest of his order before tossing the phone somewhere and tackling her back onto the mattress.

They’re both starving by the time the doorbell rings, and he yanks on his pants and hurries to the living room, propelled by a foot on his backside from Clarke.

“Finally, how long does pizza take--” 

He cuts off abruptly at the sight of Mr. and Mrs. Griffin standing in the hall.

“Please tell me that’s the pizza,” Clarke calls, emerging from the room. She’s only in his hoodie, and while that’s a sight he appreciates more than anything, he’s not quite sure the two people standing outside will agree with him.

He knows he should say something, _anything,_ to alert Clarke of her visitors, but his jaw just hangs open uselessly until she sidles up to peek out the door.

“Mom! Dad!” She yelps and hides behind him as her dad bursts into laughter.

They cancel the pizza and get dressed in record time, while Jake and Abby graciously don’t mention what they just saw and instead talk about their flight and how an extra unforeseen day off made them decide to surprise Clarke a tad early. 

Well, Jake does most of the talking. Abby strolls around, cautious but obviously curious as she stops to take in the wall where Clarke’s proudly hung several student works, or at the end tables full of picture frames, several of which Bellamy’s glad to say include him. There's also a couple snapped at the children's hospital, the kids beaming proudly and holding up their finished crafts from Clarke's lap.

The look on Abby's face is doting, though an undercurrent of sadness makes him wonder just how many times she’s actually been to her daughter’s apartment. 

Clarke is still a little pink when they go to the pub for dinner, but Bellamy likes that look on her, so he just keeps kissing her cheek every time her parents turn their back on the walk over. When they settle into their usual corner booth, Clarke crowds onto his side, waving at Harper over by the bar. He’s grateful she chose the pub, because a drink feels pretty necessary the way Abby’s looking at him. It’s not disapproving - he hopes - but rather hawk-like, as if she can’t decide how she feels. 

Midway through the meal, he figures it out. He feels like a patient being assessed by a doctor; though seeing that Abby is a surgeon, he’s not thrilled at the idea of meeting her scalpels.

But Clarke’s leg remains flush against his under the table, her hand always on his forearm or his wrist, just stroking lightly, reassuring. He sets her touch and the exuberance of her father’s near-permanent smile against Abby’s frank stares.

Dinner actually proceeds rather smoothly, helped along mostly by Jake’s enthusiasm. Abby inquires about the wedding, a bit tentatively, but Clarke doesn’t give any hint to the discomfort her relatives caused, just squeezes Bellamy’s hand and says, “My date made it a lot better.”

Jake insists they all raise their cups to that, and Bellamy decides if he can ever hug the man without it being awkward, he’s going to, because he deserves it. 

On his way back from the restroom, he stops at the bar. Harper grins. “Need something stronger than Coke?” 

“Please. The usual for Clarke too.”

“You got it. So how’s it going with the parents?”

“As well as expected, I guess.”

“Mama Griffin sure is an ice queen,” she observes lowly. He snorts, raking a hand through his hair. Ice queen or not, he’s determined to make her thaw. “Incoming,” Harper warns, then hurries to the other end of the bar to take another customer. 

Bellamy turns to find Abby approaching, her face unreadable as ever. “Mrs. Griffin,” he greets politely. “Did you want something to drink?”

“Yes, that would be nice. Any recommendations?”

“Well…” he’s about to suggest one of the wines, or a spritzer of some sort, but then he notices her eyes on the tap menu. “They have a great selection,” he says, pushing the menu over to her. “I usually get an IPA, and Clarke always goes for the stouts,” he grins, “but depends what you’re in the mood for. Their seasonal stuff is great, this time of year they’ve got some good citrus and--”

He stops himself short with an embarrassed smile. “Sorry, no need to give you the full shpeal. Old habits die hard I guess.” At her look, he elaborates, “I was a bartender in college. Helped pay the bills.”

Abby nods, something in her demeanor shifting. “I tried it once,” she says, surprising him. 

“Seriously?”

“Yes. During school also.” She grins, the first honest one he’s seen all night. “His fault.” She jerks her head towards Jake, who’s huddled by the jukebox with Clarke. “He thought it would be fun to try to teach me. He was very wrong.”

“I doubt you were that bad,” Bellamy says.

“Trust me, I was. Jake will gladly tell you all about it.”

Bellamy is still grinning at the thought of potentially teaching Clarke when she and her dad walk over, and as the first strains of the song float out behind them, Abby groans, though it’s good-natured. Her eyes soften when she looks at Jake.

“You picked this one on purpose,” she accuses.

“Of course I did.” He takes her hand, but not before telling Bellamy, “My wife here was a ballroom dancer in another life. Watch and learn.”

“Daaad,” Clarke whines.

Unfazed, Jake pointedly adds, “And Clarke loves the waltz. She watched every competition there was as a kid.”

Clarke shoos them both off, but watches them sway together with a soft smile all the same. “Dad’s the only one who brings out this side of her. I haven’t seen them dance in years.” 

Bellamy puts his arm around her. He doesn’t say anything about her dad’s remarks, but he sees the longing on her face, and he remembers.

~~~~~~~~~~

Which is how Miller walks in one Saturday afternoon to find Bellamy and Jasper in a handhold, the younger boy patiently explaining what a reverse turn is while Bellamy stares murderously. His roommate howls with laughter, drops his groceries, and takes a picture all in the course of 30 seconds.

“That doesn’t go online until next Friday night,” Bellamy warns. He knows better than to protest it outright - the most he can do is restrict the timing. Jasper sighs and readjusts his posture for the fifth time while Miller flops onto the couch for a prime view.

“So that’s the big day, huh?”

He receives a grunt in response. To Bellamy’s chagrin, several more pictures are snapped throughout the lesson, and Miller takes special pleasure in Skyping Monty into the living room. Within minutes, Bellamy is getting direction on how to position his hands and turn his heels.

“Remember, it’s left foot forward, right foot side, then left meets right,” Jasper instructs.

Monty calls, “Shoulders up!”

“Wash the dishes Cinderelly, make the dinner Cinderelly,” Miller cracks, then ducks when Bellamy sends a pillow his way.

After Jasper leaves, Bellamy practices in his room with his headphones on, feeling more than a little foolish. But he's determined. He uses his lunch breaks at school to watch the dances Jasper suggested on Youtube, studying their movements. By day three his muscle memory kicks in to help his posture and on day five he only steps on Jasper’s feet three times in an hour instead of six. Clarke nearly catches him practicing alone once or twice, but he pretends he’s just listening to a lecture about the Peloponnesian War-- and then he has to actually remember facts as she begins to bombard him with questions.

The following Friday comes sooner than he’s ready for, but he’s on time, standing outside Clarke’s door making sure his shirt is properly tucked in. He hasn’t told her anything, except to dress up because he wants to take her out.

_”You planning to wine and dine me, Blake?”_

_“Something like that.”_

It’s been killing her that he won’t give her any hints, and she’s been springing questions out of the blue during any conversation, trying to surprise him into an answer, but he simply refuses. Now, though, Bellamy finds himself uncertain, wondering if he should have checked with her first, if maybe a tiny clue wouldn’t have hurt… 

The door swings open, and Clarke appears in a floaty lavender dress that makes his mouth go dry all over again, all thoughts flying from his head. 

“Hey,” he croaks.

“Hi.” She’s back to biting her lip again in that way he knows all too well, and it makes him laugh and extend his hand, kissing her jaw as they head downstairs. She lets him drive the Jeep this time - or rather, she has no choice to, because he’s insistent upon keeping this under wraps to the very last second.

So when she sees the city lights fade in the distance, her questioning glances become more and more frequent, but he doesn’t budge, just grins at her fidgeting. He can’t deny that he loves being able to surprise her, even now.

They pull off onto an exit, and he follows the road another mile or so, just like the directions said, until the twinkly lights of the restaurant appear in the distance. Clarke sits up eagerly, taking in everything, but it’s not until they’ve parked and walked inside that the breath leaves her in a whoosh.

The front of the restaurant is deceptive, looking like any other nice place. But the inside opens to a divided scene: part indoor dining area and part open deck. Little yellow lights outline the perimeter and cross overhead, the tables set outside to dine under the stars. Then, of course, there’s the open space in the center, where a few couples currently sway.

Clarke looks at him bright-eyed and awed, and Bellamy kisses her cheek and murmurs, “Surprise, princess,” laughing when she throws herself at him in a gasping hug. She can’t stop looking around as they’re seated, and after a few glances of his own, he decides not wearing a tie was a good call. She’s practically giddy at this point, bouncing in her seat, and he chuckles, pressing kisses to her knuckles until the waitress comes to get their order.

“How did you find this place?” She asks after.

“Google,” he replies meekly. “Well, that, and your dad.”

She blinks. “You called my dad?”

“Yeah. I… uh, wanted to make sure I did this right. He said, and I quote, _I know a guy who knows a guy whose daughter might know a place.”_ Clarke laughs with him, shaking her head. “Anyways. He helped me out.”

Clarke rests her chin on her hand, the adoration on her face making his heart hammer wildly. “Look at you two, in cahoots.”

“We make a good team,” he agrees. _For more reasons than you know._

They get halfway through their meal before Bellamy downs the last of his wine and rises, holding out a hand to Clarke. She hops up instantly and beams as they walk onto the floor. But what she doesn’t expect is for him to pull her close, his hand high on her back and the other clasping her fingers. She stills for a moment, taken aback, and he gulps.

Then she smiles, so ecstatic he can’t help but smile back, and her arm relaxes atop his, her fingers grasping his shoulder. He moves slowly at first, hoping it’s not super obvious that he’s counting the steps in his head. She follows easily, and though he does bump into her early on, she just giggles and keeps going. 

As most things are with Clarke, they find their footing together. He settles into a rhythm midway through the second song. Then she starts telling him a story about her seventh-graders’ artwork, and they’re not at the restaurant anymore, not surrounded by a ton of people, it’s just the two of them again, and they stay on the floor well after their food is cold.

Clarke does see the Instagram, late on Friday night when they’re tangled skin to skin under her covers. Miller has posted the pictures from the practice sessions in one big collage and tagged them both. 

The caption reads: _Be careful Clarke, he turns into a pumpkin at midnight. #tothelefttotheleft._

Her laugh is so joyful that it makes every stubbed toe and sore muscle well worth it. “You took lessons,” she whispers, delighted. Bellamy shrugs, but she grasps his chin and plants her mouth on his, hard. 

“You took lessons,” she repeats, and peppers him with kisses until his smile matches hers.

~~~~~~~~~~

One day, Miller emerges from his room after a call with Monty looking a bit dazed. At Bellamy’s questioning look, he breaks into a huge grin.

“Monty got the job at The Ark. He’s moving here at the end of next month.” 

Amid the euphoria on his face, there’s also somewhat of an apology. Laughing, Bellamy hauls him in for a giant hug, thrilled for his two friends.

“This means dinner at your place once a week,” he says.

He tells Clarke the next night, and after she’s danced across the hall to grab Miller in a squealing hug of her own and yell congratulations at Monty over Skype, she returns to help him fix their eggplant for dinner.

In between tasting the sauce, she says, “So that means you’ll need a new roommate in a couple months?”

“Yeah, but I that’s plenty of time to find someone,” he says without thinking, rifling through the cabinets for the big pan she always misplaces. “I’ll just put an ad online. I mean I love that place, it shouldn’t be too hard to find a sublet.”

“Cool.” Clarke’s voice sounds a bit off, but when he turns she’s at the stove, adding extra spices, and he can’t see past her hair without being obtrusive. “So we have to see the new Mission:Impossible soon,” she says in the next breath. “I don’t care if you think there’s too many.” 

Bellamy watches her closely, but can’t pinpoint what just happened, so he dismisses it.

“Fine, but then we have to watch Ant-man too. Continue our Marvel streak before it leaves theaters.”

“Deal. Pass the garlic?”

It doesn’t occur to Bellamy that something is still not right until a couple days later, when he realizes Clarke’s texts haven’t been as detailed or emoji-filled as usual. Instead he’s getting barely a sentence, if he’s lucky, the barest bones of a story she’d usually take at least three full messages to tell. At first he chalks it up to being busy - it is that time of year, after all - but after the fourth day in a row, he can’t stop thinking about it.

She hasn’t been over in days either, claiming to be overwhelmed with paperwork and grading, and so he respects her time and just goes over at night, because he can’t help but want to sleep near her anyways. Clarke is usually in bed by the time he joins her, either asleep or halfway there, so he just curls himself around her and drifts off too.

But when the morning comes, she’s not next to him when he wakes, and the cold emptiness that greets him instead makes him bolt upright, slightly panicked. He can't remember the last time he woke up without Clarke by his side - or at least, to her grumbling about an early day.

He stumbles into her living room to find her already up and about, fully dressed as she pours her coffee into the to-go tumbler he gave her months ago. He frowns. He _knows_ Clarke, knows she loves staying bed as long as possible-- especially with him, as she’s let slip before. And that’s not something he’ll ever forget. Plus, having coffee together in the mornings has kind of become their thing, their one moment of peace before the day resumes its chaos.

So when she only gives him a quick kiss and is clearly itching to be out the door while he’s still groggy, it scares Bellamy more than he can even admit.

Still, he doesn’t broach the subject, tries to study her from afar and figure it out himself. He also wants to give her time to work out whatever it is in her own head; he knows she doesn’t appreciate being pressured to spill her thoughts. It's barely even been a week, after all-- the problem is, it already feels like an eternity to him. 

Octavia’s in the midst of her own “quarter-life crisis” as she calls it, moving into Lincoln’s apartment and starting her new job all in the same week. So when they do manage to grab a few moments to talk on the phone, Bellamy lets her chatter on, not wanting to pile on with his own issues. The closest he gets to hinting at it is an all-too-casual query about how much she’s spoken to Clarke lately, which only results in her lamenting how much she hasn’t seen either of them and wants to catch up.

Eventually he has to talk to someone, so Miller drags the short story out of him while he pokes sullenly at his dinner. They both sit and stew over the facts but end up with more questions than answers.

“How about,” Miller finally says, “just wait until she comes over tomorrow. It’s Thursday, right, you guys are cooking here?” Bellamy nods - it’s their weekly thing before they watch whatever awful game the NFL has decided to shuffle onto Thursday Night Football. “Good. So let her come by, and I’ll chitchat for a bit, see if I can’t charm her out of it too.”

He winks, chuckling when Bellamy tosses a bread roll at him, but he’s grateful all the same.

Except-- Clarke doesn’t show that night. After sending a few texts with no reply, he begins to get really nervous. He hopes that she just got stuck at work late, but while taking out the trash he runs into her in the hall, a laundry basket in her arms.

“Hey. I thought you were at work.”

Her brow scrunches. “Was I supposed to be?”

“No, it’s just-- it’s Thursday. You didn’t come by for dinner, so I thought…” He trails off, rubbing his neck.

“Oh, shit. Sorry… I was talking to Raven and totally lost track of time.”

She sounds sincere, but she’s also staring at his collar instead of his face. “Didn’t you get my texts?” He presses.

Clarke sighs and rubs her face. “I’m sorry. I was just so caught up, and then I had a bunch of stuff to do so I put my phone to charge and forgot all about it.” Finally she meets his gaze. “Rain check?” She offers hopefully.

Bellamy knows this is where he should say something, anything, to get some hint as to where he’s gone wrong.

Instead he just agrees casually, an odd feeling in his stomach as he watches her head back into her apartment. 

~~~~~~~~~~

That weekend, he enters the building with his arms full of groceries, fully intending to take Clarke up on that rain check, only to nearly crash into Raven on the first landing. As he juggles his groceries, she arches a stern eyebrow at him.

“What?” He says defensively, tucking Clarke’s chocolate-covered cherries back into the bag. “I apologized.”

The girl continues to eye him without a word, judgment seeping from her pores. Bellamy wants to be pissed, and he is, but more than anything he just wants answers. So, so, badly. Finally Raven sighs and shakes her head.

“Forget it.”

“Forget what?”

“Nothing, alright?” As she brushes past him, he has a thought.

“Does this have anything to do with what you and Clarke were talking about on Thursday night?”

Now it’s Raven’s turn to be puzzled. “I was on shift Thursday. She texted me about picking up something for your sister's housewarming, but that’s it. I went straight from my bed to work.”

“Oh.” Bellamy can’t deny how his whole body deflates at the prospect of Clarke lying to him, but it’s pretty clear she did. What he wants to know is why.

Raven notices it too. “Look. You know how she is, gets caught up in her own head, always overthinking shit, too good at internalizing it unless you shake it out of her…” 

He does know all that, but he still has no idea where she’s going with it. “So?”

 _”So,_ don’t be afraid to shake.”

With that, she leaves him standing there even more confused than before.

~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t get it,” Bellamy says again to Miller the following night. Puzzled, he repeatedly throws a tennis ball against the wall, only able to think of the distance in Clarke’s eyes and the fact that he’s responsible for it.

“Run me through it again,” Miller says, stretching out on the couch. “Every detail.”

With a sigh, Bellamy flops into the armchair. “Everything was great after the wedding, we went on the date to the planetarium and like fifty more… I mean I know we had a few fights, but nothing huge. And if she’s pissed she’ll say so, you know?”

“True. Her parents came to town, right?”

“Yeah, but as far as I know they don’t disapprove. Well her dad doesn’t, and that’s what matters to Clarke,” he says definitively. “And then I told her about Monty getting the job, and that you’d be moving out, and that I’d put an ad up for a sublet--”

“Hang on.” His roommate sits up curiously. “When you told her I was moving out, what did she say exactly?”

Frowning, Bellamy thinks back. “She said, ‘So you’ll need a roommate in two months?’ and I said yeah, that’s plenty of time to get an ad out--” 

He stops abruptly. _Motherfucker._

His head snaps up at the same time Miller erupts in laughter. Eyes wide, Bellamy stares. He can’t believe it. It’s been right in front of him this whole time.

“So let me get this straight,” Miller gasps, “she said, ‘you’ll need a roommate’ and you said ‘I’ll put up an ad’?!” He dissolves into loud guffaws.

“Holy shit,” Bellamy breathes. In the next instant he’s in the hall, knuckles rapping hard on Clarke’s door. “Clarke!” he calls. “It’s me, open up. It’s important.”

He hears her soft shuffling, and then the door swings open to irritated blue eyes. “Hey. I’m not really--”

“Do you want to be my roommate?” He blurts out, and her irritation turns to panic.

“Wh-- what?”

“Do you…” he takes a deep breath and says, “do you want us to live together? When Miller leaves?”

Clarke swallows, stricken and more than a little nervous. In a very small voice, she asks, “Do you?”

Everything seems to click into place then-- it's like the Earth realigns on its axis now that Bellamy finally understands the root of her behavior. She's scared - she thought he didn't want the same things as her, and she couldn't figure out what to do with it, so she just retreated into that complicated head of hers. He nearly laughs from relief. Now that there's a definite reason behind the past torturous week, he realizes something else has come into startling focus even more than it ever was.

Clarke his best friend and his love, and that's never going to change.

Bellamy smiles so hard his cheeks hurt, and sweeps her into a deep kiss, winding his arms around her until he feels her mouth curve against his, and then she’s hugging him tightly as he lifts her off her feet, all the tension leaving her body in place of sheer joy. She nudges her nose into the crook of his neck, a shaky laugh escaping.

“I thought you loved your place,” she says when he puts her down.

“Clarke,” he cradles her cheek, “I love _you._ The place doesn’t matter as long as you’re in the picture. That’s all I want.”

She leans into his touch, a shy smile gracing her cheeks. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, silly.” He drops kisses on every part of her face until she laughs and squeezes him in a hug again, nosing the collar of his shirt with a happy sigh. He brushes a hand over her hair, lightly nipping her earlobe. "Don't you ever think otherwise," he adds.

“Thank god,” she murmurs, only half-joking, and Bellamy laughs brightly, kissing her again with everything he can muster, more thankful than he can ever remember being.

Then Clarke lifts to her tiptoes and whispers “I love you too” into his ear, and he walks her backwards into her apartment, kicking the door shut behind them as he sets himself to the task of showing her just how much he loves her.


End file.
